Ignite Me
by SmartKIN
Summary: After Blaine cheats on him, Kurt wants nothing more than to hide himself and his emotions from the world. He has no plans to fall in love again until he's at least in college. But then there's Puck, who worms his way past Kurt's defenses as if it's his only purpose in life.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** This is a WIP, I'll try to post regularly, but I can't make any promises. Please don't bug me about updates. That said, I would _love_ to know what you think! I haven't written a Glee fanfic in ages, so I'm in a very nostalgic mood right now. I have a vague idea where this is going, but I have no idea how long it's gonna be. Could be five chapters, could also be fifteen. In any case, allons-y!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me; writing this for fun and all that jazz.

* * *

The heavy rain spatters against the window pane were the only sound in the house. He was quite alone, and for once not listening to music. There was a melancholy that had taken a hold of his heart, the feeling that he was just _wrong, wrong, wrong_ , that made him lie motionlessly on his comforter and stare at the darkly brooding sky beyond his window.

If Blaine was to be believed, Kurt had brought this on himself, and his instincts told him to believe the other boy. Had he not been afraid that his own principles, his sensibilities, would come back to haunt him?

 _Prude_ , he thought viciously like he had so many times before, _damn prude_.

Being scared of physical intimacy, of _any_ kind of intimacy, had not served him well. It was the sort of fear that people expected him to get over, and quickly at that. First boyfriend at sixteen, my oh my, what a late bloomer. Not putting out? You've got to be kidding me.

Every mean thought he'd ever had about himself came crashing down, suffocating him underneath their combined weight.

It wasn't really cheating, Blaine had said, if Kurt kept denying him what he needed.

Even the scent of alcohol on his breath had not been enough for Kurt to forgive him, not this time. For a brief moment he wondered if he should have just allowed Blaine to have fun with whomever he wanted – it _did_ take the pressure off himself – and then he hated himself even more for thinking so. How broken did you have to be to go down that road? Wasn't it better to be single than to let other people hurt him? On a good day he would have agreed with that sentiment, but today was not a good day. With the breakup a fresh and gaping wound in his chest, he was afraid of turning 18, 20, 30 and still be alone. Would anyone even want to date him if he wasn't experienced? He couldn't help but doubt it.

If the thought of letting others see him naked, of letting them touch, letting them penetrate him didn't scare him even worse, he probably would have crawled back to Blaine this very instant, offering his virginity on a silver platter.

A nasty voice in his head reminded him that a perfect first time was a myth anyway, and Blaine would at least have been considerate of his feelings, would have been romantic and gentle.

A shiver ran through his body and he rolled to the side, curling into a fetal position.

Tomorrow he would have to be strong; teenagers loved nothing more than to exploit the weaknesses of their peers. If he showed the cracks in his armor, there were those who would rip it apart and expose the bleeding creature underneath. And Glee Club especially was a battlefield more often than not, involving dangers far worse than those of the regular hallway; people knew him there, knew how to exploit him for their never-ending tug-of-war of popularity and recognition. He would become a mere chess piece for whomever managed to sink their hooks into him first.

No.

Kurt would much rather be called the villain of the piece, the unfeeling ice queen, than be used in any way. He just needed to pull up the draw bridge and fortify his walls; then he could lick his wounds in private, analyzing every mistake, making sure it didn't happen again.

* * *

By the time his family came home in the evening, a soft light was burning in his room and he was cutting out pictures from his pile of magazines, carefully gluing them into his scrapbook while Sia played quietly in the background. When Finn knocked gently on his door frame, Kurt was ready to play pretend.

Putting down the glue stick, he turned around to face his stepbrother and immediately recognized the look of concern in Finn's expressive eyes, which meant that news had already traveled through the grapevine.

"You okay?"

Kurt bobbed his head, not quite prepared for the sting of guilt that came from lying to Finn Hudson.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Finn frowned but didn't call him out on his lie. Instead he watched Kurt a little longer and then straightened up.

"Mom's almost finished with dinner," he offered, and Kurt was once again struck by the boy's emotional intelligence that was only rarely allowed to surface and was all the more powerful when it did.

"I'll be down in a sec," he murmured, and waved at his scrapbook.

Finn nodded and slipped out of his room, leaving behind a hole where his warmth had been.

Kurt sighed and wondered if he'd ever truly be happy.

He doubted it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** I forgot to add that this story is following a very ambiguous timeline~

* * *

If he were religious, he would thank whatever deity he believed in for granting him a day's reprieve.

Even though Monday mornings were usually nothing to be happy about, this particular Monday proved to be different. Mr. Schuester was home with the flu and would not be able to supervise Glee Club and because it was scheduled for last period, they didn't get a substitute teacher, the school preferring to send them home early rather than pay somebody for overtime.

Rachel was devastated (Kurt and Blaine's breakup momentarily forgotten) and had already tried to badger them all into attending anyway, but Kurt would rather bang his head repeatedly against his locker than expose himself to Glee in his current vulnerable state.

"Look," Rachel hissed sharply during AP English while Kurt steadfastly ignored her, "we can't lose even one hour of practice! Regionals are almost around the corner and we haven't been on top of our game lately."

Kurt rolled his eyes and leafed idly through his copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_. He already knew what she was going to say next.

"And by 'us' I mean everybody but me. And I'm sorry to say this, Kurt," she continued, and he was sure that she wasn't sorry at all, actually, letting her accusations wash over him with an ease that came from considerable practice, "but that includes you too. You know that I adore your voice, but you've sounded a little shrill lately. If you're not able to harmonize with the rest of the group, it's really noticeable, you know?"

She briefly fell quiet when the teacher turned away from the blackboard to survey the assembled students, and only berated Kurt again when she could be sure she wouldn't be reprimanded.

This time, she brought out the big guns.

"What if I let you sing a solo," she asked, probably thinking that she was charitable and a good friend rather than offensive.

"I'm busy," he replied, and picked up a turquoise gel pen to copy down some of the notes that were on the board.

As Rachel fell into a sulky silence, he was suddenly glad that he didn't share any classes with Blaine. How often had he daydreamed about passing flirty notes back and forth, of doodling lopsided hearts into his notepad where Blaine could see, about brushing their legs together under the table during group work?

Thank Gaga that he was a senior.

* * *

Time crawled past on all fours and by the end of the day Kurt was exhausted, having spent so many hours dodging his friends and avoiding any well-trodden paths, the cafeteria, his locker, his favorite bathroom. He escaped as soon as humanly possible and dashed through the still ongoing rain, both relieved and aggravated that he had parked so far from the main building – nobody would follow him, but he was getting wetter than he liked.

He threw his messenger bag onto the passenger seat, buckled up, and then sat there for a long moment, simply breathing in and out, trying to forget his pain. His world shrunk down to the inside of his car, the silence a loud and complicated thing in his ear. Blurred and splotched, the shapes outside his small bubble of claustrophobic privacy were of little consequence to him. Instead, his grief became a sharp weapon, slicing into him with horrible ease.

Before he could lose himself, he started the engine, radio springing instantly to life and making him flinch as P!nk blared from the speakers. His heart jack-rabbiting against his ribcage, he pulled out of the parking lot and started the short drive home.

* * *

He couldn't have been on the road for more than five minutes when he saw somebody up ahead, jogging along the sidewalk. Instinctively, Kurt slowed down, just to see if he knew this person, if he'd sworn fealty and was required to lend assistance. As the Navigator rolled closer, Kurt was able to recognize none other than Noah Puckerman, whole body hunched against the wind, rain whipping mercilessly across his shoulders.

Kurt sighed. There he was, having successfully evaded everybody for the entire day only to be caught by somebody who wasn't even trying. He wondered if he could get away with sneaking past the guy, but no. If he just drove on, Puck would surely recognize his car. They had finally become civil enough to maybe even not hate each other, Kurt really didn't need to cause an incident on purpose.

He came to a stop a few feet ahead of Puck and leaned across the middle console to open the passenger door.

"Get in," he called out and grabbed his bag, making sure it was stored safely on the backseat before Puck accidentally sat on it.

The mowhawked teen didn't need to be asked twice; he jogged up to the Navigator and using the roof as purchase, jumped inside, closing the door behind him with a dull _thud_ , all in one flowing movement. Well, Kurt thought a little taken aback, nobody could accuse Puck of being clumsy or graceless.

"Thanks, man," Puck acknowledged right before shaking himself like a dog, sending droplets of water flying every which way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I decided to keep writing short chapters, this way I am more likely to update on a regular basis.

* * *

Kurt grimaced and turned away, opting to pull away from the curb rather than bitch at Puck for getting his car all wet. They were having the sort of rain nobody could escape from, so it wasn't exactly Puck's fault that he had gotten drenched.

"Why were you _walking_ ," he asked after a moment and mentally adjusted the route he was going to take. It wasn't a huge detour, and on a day like this Kurt didn't mind the distraction.

Puck shrugged and tried to make his mowhawk look less pathetic. Strands of hair were sticking to his scalp in a way that made Kurt's fingers itch with the need to brush them away.

"Car broke down."

Kurt raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and glanced at his passenger in silent question.

"I don't have the money to get it looked at," Puck continued and forcefully rubbed his hair until it was tousled and curly and strangely endearing as it fell into his cold-flushed face.

Kurt turned his attention back to the road, reminding himself that Puck was _anything_ but endearing, no matter what his brain, the traitor, was telling him.

In an attempt to shake this awkwardness, Kurt blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, instantly regretting that he had even opened his mouth.

"I could take a look at it for you," he offered, hating himself already, "I know my way around cars."

At first Puck didn't react, and Kurt wondered if he had offended his macho sensibilities. His hand tightened around the steering wheel and he wondered if he could somehow back-paddle without sounding pathetic. Highly unlikely.

A tense moment later, Puck surprised him with an easygoing attitude.

"Dude, I can't pay you."

Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I heard you the first time."

The jock snorted and pawed at his mowhawk again; a sign of embarrassment, maybe? Kurt would need to pay closer attention. Perhaps a side project in the form of trying to understand Noah Puckerman would take his mind off his own misery. Then he chided himself for being naive. Trying to understand his classmate would probably _add_ to his misery.

Swallowing a tortured sigh, he turned into the street on which the Puckermans resided. In the pouring rain it didn't look like a comfortable place to live, the neglected yards and cheap lawn furniture adding a touch of depression to the damp gloom.

"We'll have to wait until it stops raining," he admitted, mainly to protect what little comfort this situation had to offer. Getting soaked to the bones for Puckerman certainly wasn't something he wanted to do.

Then, as if he had lost control over his body: "I could pick you up in the morning."

If he had been alone right then and there, he would have smacked himself in order to shake his brain back into working order. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Sure, thanks," was all the other boy was able to say before the Navigator rolled to a stop.

When Puck didn't jump out of the car right away, Kurt curiously glanced at him from the side. There was a grimace on his handsome features that Kurt didn't understand. Surely, after having jogged through this weather, the few yards between the car and the house didn't matter? But when Puck finally spoke, Kurt realized he had misinterpreted the situation.

"You probably want me to get up early," he asked, voice as unhappy as his face.

Sudden delight made him giddy. Even causing this small discomfort to somebody who loved nothing more than being a pain in the ass was enough to make his day.

"Yup," he said, gleefully popping the p, "getting to school on time will be good for you, Puckerman!"

When Puck's grimace deepened, Kurt shot a smirk in his direction. He was tempted to add something along the lines of "man up" or "sleep is for the weak", but thought better of it. The jocks in this city had little patience for a biting wit, and rarely understood the difference between a joke and an insult. Although, to be fair, Kurt often layered his remarks with both, one to hurt, the other to have an alibi should an authority figure happen to be nearby. Making fun of Puck's manliness would certainly land him in a toilet. Quite literally.

Puck sighed and nodded.

"Later, Hummel," he muttered and braved the miserable downpour once again.

Kurt watched him jog across the lawn. By the time Puck had unearthed his keys, Kurt realized that he was still parked, and blushed. He would not wait for Puck to get safely into his house, no way. With a grim sort of resolution he pulled away from the curb, mentally harassing himself for being foolish.

Blaine's betrayal might have shook his foundations, but that was no excuse for acting against the ingrained social rules of William McKinley High. He would repair that monstrous pick-up truck and then he could go back to his own life, balance restored.

Even if he had rather enjoyed behaving so unlike himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** I'll keep this fic going for as long as I'm able to, tho grad school is really kicking my butt. We'll see~

Also, I'm sorry that I'm keeping Carol chained to the kitchen in this fic. Bad feminist! But anyway, enjoy. Let me know what you think.

* * *

It was very late in the afternoon when Kurt came out of his room, thinking he'd make himself a nice cup of tea and return to his pile of homework he'd been hiding under all day.

After playing driver for Puck he'd turned his phone on silent and chucked it face-down onto his bed so he wouldn't be bothered by, well, Rachel and her insistence that they practice.

He was just… so tired.

Feeling raw and like he was living with his nerves exposed was one thing, but having to deal with his well-meaning, yet smothering friends? Kurt didn't have the energy. He was barely able to keep himself afloat.

On his way to the kitchen Finn shot him a sideway glance from the couch, but didn't pause his video game to interact with him. As far as things were progressing, Finn shaped up to be his favorite friend-slash-brother. The quarterback seemed to understand what Kurt needed, and didn't hesitate to give it to him. It was a new sensation for him, being on the receiving end of somebody's consideration, and for a moment he thought that he could get used to this.

His thoughts lingering on a certain boy in the living room, he entered the kitchen and almost collided with Carole.

"Careful," she said with laughter in her voice, dropping one hand onto his shoulder to keep him in place while she maneuvered around him.

He smiled weakly and proceeded to the kettle, plugging it in, before filling it with water. Instead of chatting, like he usually did whenever he happened across his stepmom, his entire focus remained on his task: opening the overhead cupboard to get his favorite mug, grabbing a ginger and lemon flavored tea bag and waiting impatiently for the water to boil.

In hindsight he should have made more of an effort to fool Carole, no matter that the current state of affairs (ha! pun so not intended) would have come out eventually anyway.

"You okay?" the woman asked, maternal concern rolling off of her in waves, "You're a little quiet."

He chanced a glance over his shoulder.

"And pale," she added. "Are you getting sick, honey?"

He shook his head and sighed.

"Blaine and I broke up."

 _Well_ , he thought in the privacy of his own mind, I _broke up with_ him.

The kettle shut off when it was done, granting him a short-lived reprieve as he poured the boiling water into his waiting mug.

When Carole finally spoke, she surprised him with her sensitivity. Maybe it was a Hudson thing, being aware of other people's emotions like that. There was no "tell me what happened" or "are you okay?", nothing that would prompt him to gloss over his feelings, or withdraw into his shell. No greedy demand for details that he would end up dodging.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Kurt had no idea. Did he want to talk about it? Not really. In the end he decided to give her _some_ insight, hoping it would let him be a recluse for the unforeseen future. If he told her, he wouldn't have to pretend he was happy, did he? And Carole wasn't like Rachel, wouldn't use the information against him, or try to help him in a way that benefited Rachel's worldview more than it did his own.

So he shrugged and bit the bullet.

"He cheated on me because I wouldn't sleep with him."

There. That would have to be enough.

" _Oh, honey._ "

To her credit she didn't try to hug him. She squeezed his shoulder lightly and crowded a little closer, and that was about the only physical comfort he could take right now. When he thought about what an ideal relationship would look like to him, he always imagined lazy afternoons spend cuddling, just being in each other's personal space while reading, or watching TV, leaning into each other, absentmindedly stroking the back of the other's hand. He imagined falling asleep every night curled around each other, Kurt's head pillowed on a warm chest, strong arm holding him close, he thought about simply resting in another's embrace, mind drifting as he just breathed, in and out, comfortably warm, and enjoyed being physically close to somebody, save from the world outside. A primal part of him craved this sort of physical reassurance, especially in his weakest moments, when intellectual compatibility didn't seem to matter, but right now? Feeling as if somebody had rubbed sandpaper all over his skin and left him bleeding? He couldn't take the thought of being touched by anyone.

He had been quiet for too long, and it was no surprise when Carole's voice pulled him back into the present moment.

"Have you told your dad?"

Mute, he shook his head.

"No, I guess not. We would have all noticed him marching around like a mad bull," she commented, amused fondness crinkling the lines around her eyes.

He snorted. Yes, his dad would have been very vocal about his anger, loudly discussing what he wanted to do to the person who'd hurt his son, face one giant thundercloud. Kurt didn't look forward to telling him about it.

"Do you want me to tell him?"

This offer took Kurt by surprise.

"I...," he began, unsure how to finish, "you would?"

People generally didn't offer to fight his battles for him.

"Of course," she said, "and I'd even let you eat your dinner in your room if you wanted."

His eyebrow climbed in disbelief.

"Just this once."

He smiled, more genuine this time, and nodded his acquiescence.

"Alright, why don't you head on upstairs and I'll bring you some dinner when it's ready?"

Somehow it was a little bit easier to breathe after their conversation.

"Thanks, Carole."

She squeezed his shoulder one more time before letting him go.

Kurt grabbed his mug and took the escape route he was offered. Maybe, he thought for the first time since Blaine had cheated on him, maybe he'd be alright after all.


End file.
